Popcorn and Linkin Park

I am writing this at 4:30am, after being overwhelmed and woken from my sleep by missing Marissa. The feelings memories bring and the realization that more will not be made have never gone well together for me. That said I am guaranteed a few times a year when this realization occurs, for both Marissa and Jennifer, the feeling of loss returns and can be crippling but I feel a sense of relief when it passes, like I've grieved again. I carry the weight of their loss on my shoulders but I have the spring of their lives in my step. I wouldnt have it any other way.
And so I am writing a blog on a wonderful memory I made with my beautiful cousin Marissa.

Last night, with Pandora (which I think Marissa would've LOVED and sometimes hated at the same time, only because she would think she could do a better job) on loud, a Linkin Park song came on and some friends in the room commented on how it's been about 10 years since the last time they'd heard this. I laughed and immediately my mind filled with vivid memories from the Linkin Park concert Marissa took me to for my 12th birthday. I was so in awe of her, her confidence, her sense of self, her humor and personality, the complete way in which she carried herself. This was the tail end of my awkward stage and I was super stylish with an accordion headband in my scrunched hair, way too much eyeliner, and a giant white sweatshirt. (I'm still wondering why a baggy white sweatshirt was my outfit if choice.) Marissa was ready when I got to the house, she was just picking out which shirt to wear with her dark washed jeans and silvertoned belt buckle. It was a choice between a black three quarter sleeve shirt with some ruffles on the neckline or a plain v-neck something. She was worried the ruffles were too girly but in the end she went for it, stepping just a bit out of her comfort zone. Later in the night someone complimented her shirt, a stranger, and she thanked them only after telling them all about how she thought it may have been just a bit too girly. I admired her charm and her ability to make conversation, with anyone, like the man with the popcorn. I was incredibly shy, I think I still am for the most part, a pretty shy individual, but Marissa was fearless. We were waiting on the line for soda and snacks and the man in front of us was munching on big bucket popcorn. Marissa thought this was odd, and asked what he was doing on the food line when he already had his food. I was giggling the whole time and all of this was incredibly exciting to me, (it may seem dull to some of you but I assure you, it was particularly exciting!) He told us he got it for free and pointed to the entrance to the concession stand, walked over, reached in and pulled a bucket out for us. I loved it, my sheltered little self was now eating stolen popcorn at a concert with my insanely awesome cousin. We bought two big sodas and went back to our seats. We talked for a bit, Marissa made some friends with the people around us and we contemplated jumping over the guard rail to get into the mosh pit after Cypress Hill finished. I remember feeling worried for a bit that we actually would, I was worried about Marissa and whether or not she would be okay, she was standing tall at 5'7" but couldn't have weighed more than 100lbs, people were smoking, it was crowded and I didn't want anything bad to happen to her. I didn't hate cystic fibrosis yet, I had only recently found out what it was, I feared it, it made me feel unsure. We didn't jump in to the mosh pit but just thinking about felt cool enough to me. We went home for a sleepover, Jen got home from working at Friendly's a little after us, I showed her my new tshirt (which I still have) and I told her all about the man with the popcorn. 10 years later I'm still telling the same story and I have to say, it still feels just as exciting as it did that night.

I would give anything in this world to speak with Marissa again, today, now, to sit and talk. To give her a hug tighter than ever before and just not let go. Some days I find it so hard to believe that life has continued after her death. She was the light in my young life and in many ways she still is today. I am reminded of her every day. Whether through a song, a smell, or just seeing someone that looks like her, but even more so when I am doing something I love and I realize that she would love it to. She always made me feel so good about myself and those memories with her, which are my greatest and most treasured memories, are truly a blessing.

Proud and Privileged

Ian gave me flowers after I finished my training for RAINN, he got me them because he is proud of me. And really, my heart melted, I AM SO LOVED. But upon receiving those flowers, I realized something else: I AM SO PROUD OF ME. 

This morning I spent two hours completing a practice session for RAINN. The scenario I was given was incredibly similar to what actually happened to me, and I have to say it was liberating to play the part, to tell my story and the story of so many other young girls in a training session, using it to teach volunteers how to help individuals like myself. It’s powerful. 

The scenario I was given today: “You are a 16 year old girl. Four weeks ago you went to a college party with some friends. You woke up the next day in a room you didn’t remember with no clothes on the bottom half your body. You don’t know what to do and you can’t tell your parents what happened. But what will you do if you are pregnant?? You have started to think about “ending it all”.”

My real story: I was a 16 year old girl, at a high school graduation party. My friend  told my mom she would stay be with me the whole night. I woke up the next day with vomit in my hair and my clothes on the floor. I couldn’t tell my parents. 10 days later my cousin Marissa passed away. I didn’t speak about my assault for a year.

When I tell my story, as I have done many times, I’m not just telling it for myself. I know that my story is not any different than the other thousands of individuals that are affected by sexual violence, and unfortunately too many of them are silenced. This morning as I was telling bits of my own story and bits of the scenario I was given, I thought to myself: I am going to help so many people, and this time not by sharing my story, but by helping them to tell theirs.  And that is an incredible privilege.

So on that note, Happy International Women’s Day!